


Lost Along the Way

by Charlie9646



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After the first war, Angst, Eileen plays matchmaker, Emotionally distant characters, Evil Author Day 2021, F/M, Fake Marriage, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione believes she can fix everything, M/M, Mystery, Older Woman/Younger Man, Post War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Snark, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie9646/pseuds/Charlie9646
Summary: Hermione Granger, 24, had imagined a million ways her life would turn out but this was not one of them. When she least expects it she finds a photograph  that might change things for the better, but instead it doesn’t work out exactly as she plans. Time travel is a tricky thing after all.Sometimes what is meant to happen will always happen, whether we like it or not.
Relationships: Severus Snape/Hermione Granger, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36
Collections: Evil Author Musings





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is nowhere near finished and hopefully will be over the next year. (Crossing my fingers on that one). My brain is like a squirrel and I rarely ever stick to one project.
> 
> Rosie thank you for betaing this, Zorak23 for listening to me ramble on, and RavenpuffLove for your suggestion to age Hermione up slightly.

Hermione stood at the edge of the Astronomy tower as she pulled her coat tighter around herself trying to keep out the early fall chill. It was far too soon to be this cold, but it was mostly because of the wind, which was blistering, burning her cheeks. Her curls were wild and untamed. She didn’t bother with anything much besides combing it out these days -- it wasn’t as if anyone cared what she looked like. 

Harry was here on loan from the Auror department and was working with her to help rebuild Hogwarts, along with Luna and a few others. The most shocking, however, were people like Pansy and Draco. Remus was here too having long ago left his son with his mother-in-law for her to raise. That was quite strange to Hermione, but she didn’t comment on it. It was not her place. She was not like Ron who felt the need to state his opinion all the bloody time. He thought the Slytherins had gotten off easy, but she disagreed. They were children who had been caught in a trap: all of them were, on which side they had been on. Sometimes she wondered if that was the true cost of this war. Not castles or buildings that could be easily rebuilt, but the lives of those involved. Long ago people like James Potter and Severus Snape were just children, not unlike Harry and Draco or even Teddy Lupin. 

She stared across the castle grounds, taking in every single detail that she possibly could: the leaves that were changing to the colour of rust and falling off the trees, the black lake with the boulders around it that stuck out sharply like stars in the night sky. She sat down and shifted slightly back from the edge, trying to be as safe as possible.She was not afraid for herself, but for Harry who didn’t need to lose anyone else. 

The names ran through her mind like a hamster on a wheel: Cedric, Sirius, Fred, Moody, Tonks, Dumbledore, Albus, and Severus. There were more, many more, but even the few she thought of caused bile to rise in her throat. Why did she feel the need to torture herself? She didn't kill them. Her spells didn't snuff out their lives. Yet because she was alive and they were not, it felt like she was the one to blame.

Hermione knew the term for it, at least what Muggles called it: Survivor’s Guilt. Years had passed with it like a burden on her shoulders. She stood up, her joints popping as she did. There was work to do and little time to waste on thoughts of what she should have done. Hermione brushed off the little grime she had picked up on her denims from sitting on the cold stone ground. Surviving was all she had done over the last few years. Some days she barely recognised the woman looking back at her in the mirror. Gone was the plucky young girl who saw the world as something wonderful, and in her place was a woman who struggled to do the most basic of things. 

She wondered if Harry and Ron felt the same way she did, although it wasn’t like she could ask her former boyfriend. It wasn’t even worth calling him that considering how short of a time they had been together. He was with his family as he should be. Since Fred's loss, Molly Weasley could not bear the idea of being parted from any of her surviving children even after the years had passed. Arthur blamed himself as did Bill, George was inconsolable; it was like half of him had died, as if one of his limbs had been cut off. Part of Hermione wondered if Ron blamed them: her and Harry as he had so long ago. He didn’t outright say it as he had during the time they were Horcrux hunting, but sometimes she could swear she saw that in his blue eyes. 

Harry, on the other hand, was used to suffering. Sometimes it seemed as if her friend had been built for it, as if he was steel and suffering was the fire that created him. But, the truth was Hermione knew that it wasn’t the case because she was sure he felt the same sort of pain she did. They were simply hiding it from each other.

  
  


*************************

  
  


Hermione didn’t know why she was here in Severus Snape’s quarters of all places. They weren’t what she had expected, though to be honest, she hadn’t known what to expect. The furniture was a rich dark wood, the cushions soft and clean, fabrics of navy blue and evergreen. There was a warm brown plush rug covering the living space. What took up most of the room were the bookshelves that belonged in her dreams. The leather-bound tomes spilled out, overcrowded in a way that the library would never be. Hermione wanted to read all of them, to light the fire and curl up in the armchair, to escape into the books and the knowledge that they held within their pages. 

But that was not the reason she was here, as much as that fact pained her greatly. 

The wards were still there, the soft thrumming of his magic still present years after the man’s death, though they let her in as if she belonged there. The fact that they did shocked Hermione, and left a twisted feeling in her stomach that she could barely explain. There were no words for the feeling. Sometimes, if she looked out of the corner of her eye, she could swear she could see him. But it was surely only foolish wishes that had no place in this reality. The man haunted her in her dreams and when her eyes were open. 

It seemed nearly every single night for years she dreamed of Severus. Some were memories of the past, some were of him pleading with her to help him. Others were of them doing downright bloody domestic things, him being younger than she could have possibly of ever known him, but the others were by far the worst: watching the man die. Those were the ones that Hermione hated the most. Watching Severus bleed out on the floor of the shrieking shack, her trying to save him. Shoving potions down his throat, his raven’s wing colour eyes turning the cold flat black of death as they stared at nothing. His pale skin taking on the pallor of death. 

When she had those dreams, Hermione would end up waking to the sound of her own screams, which left her hoarse and unable to speak. Those nightmares were why she chose to sleep alone and not to share a room with Luna. Her friend did not need to be haunted by Hermione’s demons when she surely had enough of her own.

Professor Snape had done his very best with every action he took to be cruel to her, and yet she felt drawn to him in a way she could not express, in ways that she barely was able to understand herself. It wasn’t the dreams or even the nightmares that drew her -- they felt more like symptoms than the problem itself. Hermione did not go towards the bookshelves, instead she found herself drawn to the shut heavy oak door in the corner. The one that likely led to the man’s bedroom. Hermione knew this was crossing a line. As antisocial as the man was, surely at least someone beside him had been in his sitting room. His bedroom was another story by far. Surely he never would have invited someone he wasn’t close to in there, and even if Snape did, it would not had been a student. 

Yet here she stood twisting the old brass doorknob in her hand and pushing the door silently open. There was no one here, not even ghosts, what did she honestly have to be afraid of? Nothing, there was nothing that she should be scared of. Hermione wasn’t doing this with malice intent, she simply wanted to put her demons to rest and there was nothing wrong with wanting to do that. Or at least that’s what she told herself. 

The room was similar to the man’s sitting room, though it was ever so slightly more lived in: navy blue rug over oak wood floor, heavy four-poster bed with an iron head and footboard, and a steel grey duvet and white sheets. Dark wood wardrobe and nightstands. There was a black cotton dressing gown and nightshirt lain at the foot of the bed. A bottle of fire whisky and a shot glass sat on the left nightstand, and a few books were on the right. A desk was in the corner with more books, a wooden chair with a small dark cushion on it, and papers on the desk had his tiny handwriting all over them. Next to that was a small pile of dirty clothing, likely waiting for the house elves that would never come for them. Dust had settled over everything, leaving a musty smell in the room. Headmistress McGonagall had not yet decided what to do with this room and asked that it be left alone. In that instant, it was clear as day to Hermione the man did not expect to die that night or, if he did, Severus thought that no one would bloody care. 

The truth was Hermione couldn’t decide which was more depressing. Both thoughts left her with the feeling she had a stone in her throat. She found herself reaching for the bottle of fire whisky, surely Severus wouldn’t mind, would he? The man was dead after all. Hermione poured herself a small glass, less than a shot. The goal was to be able to sleep, not get drunk. In some ways it was like time itself had stopped at Hogwarts years ago for those who had agreed to help rebuild it. They had tried to do so, but it had gone like stacking playing cards in a windstorm: it just never stuck. The Headmistress and the rest of them refused to give up, but sometimes it felt like a waste of time. Of course that might just be Hermione’s bleak outlook talking. 

It was then that she saw it, a photograph, and a wizarding one at that. She knew she shouldn’t. In any case, Hermione was unable to help herself and was reminded of her favourite childhood saying: curiosity did kill the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. She hadn’t known what to expect, but what she saw made her veins turn to ice. 

A younger Severus stood with two women, one older, possibly his mother, one younger who looked like -- nope it could not be -- and two small children, a boy and a girl. The other woman looked like her. Maybe a few years older than she was now, but it looked like her. Same bushy curls, brown eyes, warm tanned skin and the same small chip in her front tooth she gained from the fall she took down the stairs a few weeks ago. The chip Hermione insisted she didn’t care to fix, that she cared little about what her teeth looked like, more so when other people fussed about them so much.

There was a wedding ring on each of their hands, simple gold bands, but it was stark clear about what those two people were to each other. Though the children spoke far more volumes than anything else. The little boy had skin like his mother, with its warm olive cast, the one that Hermione had despised most of her childhood, and his father's straight and sleek black hair. The girl, who was a mere toddler, had her mother’s dark brown curls, but her father’s pale white skin, though unlike him she had rosy cheeks.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the woman and the children, unable to process the fact that in all likelihood, it was herself and the children she would one day have, but in the past. The very thought of it gave her a throbbing headache. Snape was smiling, which made him look so _different_ than he had when Hermione had known him. His features were the same, but softened without the harsh sneers the man was known for. The older woman, she assumed, was Eileen Prince, thinking back to the information they had found during the war from that newspaper. She wasn’t any more a traditional beauty than her son could be called handsome, but she too smiled softly. Her once inky black hair was mostly grey and silver. 

The magic photo showed them each moving slightly. Severus kissed the woman’s curly hair, the children waved, Eileen reached out to grasp her son’s shoulder lightly. They were happy, far happier than Hermione herself was now. She had heard rumours about alternative universes and that sometimes they crossed over. That would be the only way to explain how they were roughly the same age in this photo and it might explain why she was drawn to the man, because in another life they were together. 

The other thoughts, however, Hermione couldn’t stop herself from thinking. _‘ What if that was her? Her from this time? It meant Hermione went back in time and got together with the man. It meant there was a way to go back in time and try to fix things, to change things. It meant she could save people. She could stop Harry from losing his parents. She could stop Sirius from wasting away in Azkaban for twelve bloody years. She could save Fred, Dobby, and Moody. Teddy wouldn’t have to lose his mother. And the last part felt like this odd chain sitting around her neck: she might also find a way to that odd family in the photo.’_

But that was not Hermione's main goal. The reason to go back was to save those who were lost, but something in the back of her mind told her this would be a one-way trip. However, with all that she had lost now without the strong ties here to this time and space, it wasn’t as sickening of a thought as she imagined it might be. If she had to fall on her sword in this time to give everyone a future, she would do so. 

It was then that she saw it, antique brass glistening in the candlelight. It was a compass on the edge of the nightstand. It did not point north, though it spun like it was seeking something out. Maybe this was what Hermione was meant to find? Maybe this was what helped the other version of her in the past get there. Time travel couldn’t even be described by the brightest witch of her age. Though to be honest, she hated that title. The brightest witch of any age would be able to save someone who was dying in front of her, wouldn’t she? 

Considering Hermione had found the hint and the strange object in Snape’s rooms he might have known something about it. The man had once been the headmaster; it was worth checking with the portraits of the past headmasters. Part of her hoped that maybe Snape had decided to take up residence in his own protrait, finally. It had been painted over a decade ago; it was common practice for head of houses to have one made. But from what McGonagall had said, he had only agreed to it due to Dumbledore's insistence.Yet when the man had been pardoned, the only thing that had shown up in the portrait was a compass, which happened to look quite a bit like the one in her hands. She couldn’t begin to think about what the man would feel once she figured out how to work this thing or whatever else helped herself go back in time. She shoved both the photograph and the compass into the pocket of her jumper, leaving the glass of whisky where she found it.

When she stepped out of Snape’s quarters, she ran headlong into Remus. He looked downtrodden if anyone had ever. He had lost two people he had loved in his lifetime, Sirius and now Tonks, and both were dead by the same force. Hermione knew she might have the power to bring both of them back, and wouldn’t that be wonderful if she could?

“You know no one is allowed in there, don’t you?” Remus asked, scratching his chin as he did. “I thought Minerva made that quite clear.” 

“I…” 

“It’s fine, Hermione, I am just teasing you. I was on my way to supper, are you coming?” 

“Yes, but later I have something I need to talk to you and Harry about for that matter.”

“Happy to,” he said, as he placed a hand on her back, encouraging her to continue.

***************************

Hermione sat down next to Harry at the head table. Her friend looked the same as he always had, and all of her thoughts of leaving came to a crashing halt. Harry was not Ron, Luna, or even Neville. This man who she loved dearly would miss her. They were to each other the sibling that neither had. But the truth was, what if this did work? Harry wouldn’t need a sister-like friend because he would grow up with Lily and James Potter in his life. Wasn’t that worth a chance? Sometimes when you stood on the edge of a cliff, you simply had to close your eyes and just jump. Malfoy sat on the far end of the table and he was just staring at her, as if the man was seeing someone or something from his past. Draco didn’t look angry - if anything he looked as if he was seeing someone he cared a great deal about. 

Someone poked Hermione sharply in her ribs. 

“Quit staring at Malfoy,” Harry mumbled, with food still in his mouth. “Someone might think that you like him or something.”

Hermione didn’t bother to give anything so utterly stupid a response. Beyond that, Malfoy was following Luna around like some sort of lost puppy. The Ravenclaw was like a strange bright light to the world. Because of that, she could easily understand why someone who had been through so much, who had lived with darkness only to turn away from it, was drawn to someone who could see the best in every situation. 

Harry quickly started another conversation with Neville, who was directly across the table from him. Hermione picked at her food when she caught McGonagall giving her a worried look, because she had placed quite a bit of food on her plate, but she hadn’t eaten any of it. Harry was doing the same, though he was far better at it.

“You should eat, Hermione,” Luna whispered, from her seat in front of her. “The Nargles are more likely to get you if you don’t. They cloud your mind, you know, and that’s the last thing someone who's thinking about important things like you are needs.”

“I will, Luna,” she said softly, tearing a piece of her roll off and plopping it into her mouth. Hermione placed a hand over her mouth and added, “it’s just…”

“Hard,” Pansy added softly, her pale cheeks turning pink. “I am sorry… I didn’t mean to intrude in something that wasn’t my place.”

“It’s fine,” Hermione said. “No one expects you to sit here silently. We all did what we had to, and you are paying your debt for the choices you made. I see no point in adding more punishment on top of that.”

“Weasley disagrees with that,” Draco snapped, crossing his arms over his chest, blond hair falling over one pale blue eye. “He thinks it even with what Potter said, even bloody Professor Snape. You know the man who was on your side and died for it? That he too should be left off that monument or whatever else you want to call it that they are planning that’s taking forever. They hate us, Granger, every single bloody one of us. It doesn’t matter what we say or do; your kind will see our kind as monsters. Slytherins -- the monster under your bed since the twelve freaking hundreds.”

“It’s not Slytherins who people have a problem with,” Lavender growled from the far end of the table, her face marred by Greyback's scars. “It’s Death Eaters!” 

“Really?” Pansy shouted, turning sharply to face the dark-haired girl. Then quickly snapping to look at Neville. “I wasn’t a Death Eater any more than you were! And Draco? He only joined them to protect his mother. Not unlike many of you! Longbottom, what would you do to save your parents? Anything? And don’t you dare bloody deny it! I can see it on your face.”

“I would,” the despondent man muttered. “But, I wouldn’t have to if the Death Eaters would have simply left them alone. I understand why Ron feels the way he does. His brother is dead and nothing will bring him back. Sometimes I feel the same as I am sure most people do at this table. Though sometimes I wish my parents could be given the kindness of death.The truth is sometimes my mother gives me something when I am crying. Or my father stares at the birds outside of the window in their room. It gives me this tiny bit of hope that they are still there. And then some Medwizard goes and crushes that. They remind me that they aren’t there, at least not in the way that they used to be.”

“Malfoy, the reason why people see you as monsters is because they remember the first war,” Harry said, staring at his mostly full plate. His body shook, possibly with anger, though most likely due to how upset he was. “They remember people like my parents and all the others who aren’t mentioned as much. Your aunt killed Tonks, her fucking niece. We don’t do that. Not even…”

“My father?” the blond murmured. “To you people he might be nothing more than a Death Eater, but to me? I can’t forget the man who bought me my first broom or taught me to play chess. To you, he’s just a monster, but to me, he will always be my dad. Nothing I can do will ever change that. Like Snape will always be my Godfather. I think it’s clear I am not welcome here anymore; it’s not like I am hungry anyway.”

Draco threw his napkin onto his plate and stood sharply, even proudly from his chair. The man took three calm assertive steps, and then bolted. Hermione could hear something that might be crying? Surely it wasn’t that, was it? Maybe it was. Malfoy was as human as the rest of them and just as broken. There were no winners and losers in war, only pain. Luna stood, shoving her plate aside. 

“Why do care about Malfoy?” Seamus asked, shoving a chocolate biscuit into his mouth. “Looney Lovegood?” 

The blonde ignored him, focusing on Hermione and Harry.

“He’s not a monster, you know that, right?” Luna said over her shoulder. “He’s…been through so much, but it’s not my story to tell.” Sighing softly she added, “Draco tried to do everything he could to help and protect me during my time at the Manor. He's a good person who has made bad choices, not unlike some others in the world.” 

Luna walked in the same direction that Malfoy had. Pansy followed her, throwing Harry an angry look before she did so. 

The photo and the compass sat in Hermione’s pocket, feeling heavier now than they ever had. She needed to do this, not just for Harry or those considered on the side of the light, but for them all. Though she was going to have to tell someone before she left. Harry deserved to know - even if it wouldn’t matter in the end. Because there was no sure-fire way to make sure it would in fact work. 

Remus said nothing, staring blankly at the back of his hands as if the scars that covered them were the most interesting thing in the world. He seemed rather just out of it. 

If this object was what Hermione thought it was, she could just as easily be wrong, it was a coin toss. Maybe the photo wasn’t proof of time travel, but an alternative universe. Maybe Snape just had a wife who looked like her. A lot of people ended up with a broken tooth, didn’t they? Even thinking about all the other possibilities, something in the pit of Hermione’s stomach told her this compass would get her into the past. To a situation that would lead to that photo. 

And whatever happened, the world would be better because of the choices she made. It might be a silly feeling, but sometimes you just had to trust your gut. Hermione reached for the compass, clenching it in her fist. Harry was gathering his things and McGonagall opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it. The woman realized everyone was kind of just done with it all. Keeping them here was like trying to shove the lid back on the pot after it exploded. It was useless.

“Harry?” Hermione said his name more like a question, “I need to talk to you, with Remus.”

“Sure, let’s go to the Room of Requirement,” Harry said, pushing his glasses up his nose and then smiling at her. 

Remus followed after them quietly, his shabby robes hung off his thin frame. 

Just as Hermione felt in her gut that she was supposed to go back in time? She also knew she was going to miss Harry more than anything and he would miss her. Still, she repeated to herself over and over, this was to help Harry and everyone else. There was no way to know for sure that what she was assuming was correct, and it could be rather bloody off from the truth. 

Hermione followed Harry out of the Great Hall and away from the stares of her former classmates. 


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione had always loved the Room of Requirement. The castle itself had seemed to heal it with its magic. Some Unspeakables wanted to tear apart the room to try and figure out how the castle had done it, while the rest of the place seemed to be doing the exact opposite. To possibly use it to help rebuild other areas of their world. But the headmistress would have none of it. Hogwarts would be allowed to keep her secrets and that was likely for the best in the end. Harry paced back and forth in front of the doorway. The heels of his boots hit the stone floor. One turn on his heel, pacing again, a second time, then a third. The door appeared before Harry, the heavy oak door with the brass knob. He opened it, they both stepped into it and before them was a small room with three armchairs and fire. It was carpeted and to Hermione it felt her childhood home. 

Remus sighed, a pipe still hanging between his teeth and then joined them. 

Hermione took a seat, tucking up her knees in the chair, staring blankly at the fire to avoid the gaze of her friend. Harry sat in a chair; with his elbows on his knees and glasses slipping down his nose. He smiled at her though it did not reach his eyes. Remus sat next to him. 

“Hermione, what is it that you wanted to talk about?” Harry asked. 

“What would you do if you could change the past and fix things? Would you take the chance even if it caused you to have to leave?”

“Yes,” he said into his hands. “What is it? What can I do?”

“It’s not you, it’s me that has to do it,” Hermione murmured, brushing her nose softly with the sleeve of her jumper. “Let me show you and that will explain it all.” 

“What did you find?” Remus questioned, shifting around in his seat. 

Hermione slowly pulled out both the compass and the photograph, setting them on her lap. She sighed, reached across the distance and handed them to Harry. His eyes became wide at the compass, but his nose wrinkled at the sight of Snape in the photo. 

Thoughts tumbled through Hermione’s mind like stones falling down a hill. _‘Could this work? It couldn’t be a one-way trip because then there would be an older Hermione around, wouldn’t there? Or maybe she was dead. Nope, she wasn’t going to think about something like that. No bloody way. The world around them would crumble with the paradox of it all.’_

“Who is that woman with Snape?” Harry muttered, “you can’t possibly think that she’s you, can you?” 

“Let me see that,” Remus said, reaching for both items. 

“Here,” Harry said, handing the photo to him. 

“That’s exactly what I think,” Hermione snapped, shifting and straightening herself out. “I mean, she even has that stupid chipped tooth I got a few weeks ago.”

Remus nodded and replied, “I agree with you.”

“But, that means,” Harry murmured, trailing off at the end.

“It means another version of me went back in time and married Professor Snape, when he was younger, at least,” she deadpanned, twisting a curl around her finger. “I mean, he might have been different then, couldn’t he?”

“He’s Snape,” Harry mused. “I have seen his memories. He's not capable of being anything but mournful at best and cruel at worst. And anyway, he was in love with my mum, so it’s not like Snape could have loved her whomever she might have been.”

“Harry!” Remus growled, “the proof is… right here and yet still… Forget it.” He crossed his arms over his chest and handed the photo back to Hermione.

She shouldn't care about what her friend said, nor should Remus. It didn’t really matter, now, did it? She knew it in every single bloody fibre of herself, and yet part of her did exactly that -- Hermione did care. It was not that she wanted to end up as her future self. Past self? It didn’t make any sense at all or at least in her head. Her goal was not to end up in the same place as _that_ Hermione did. 

Harry fiddled with the compass in his hand, opening and closing it, shoving it around like he was a cat playing with a toy. “How does this even bloody well work?” He asked her as he squinted at the compass over the rims of his wire-framed glasses.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione groaned and then she snapped. “And if you continue doing that we will never find out!” 

He continued on, causing the photo he also held to slip from his fingers and fall to the floor. Hermione dove for it, snatching it from the ground and stealing back the compass from her friend’s hands.

“Why did you do that?” Harry whined, clearly not pleased. “It’s like… You want to go and be with him or something.”

“I do not!” she growled, “I want to fix things, not marry Severus!”

“Severus, is he now?” he asked, a borderline mocking tone filling his voice. “When did that happen? When you found that photo?” One eyebrow shot into his untamed hairline. 

“No,” Hermione said, gathering her things and starting to make her way out of the room. Before leaving she said, “It changed when we left him bleeding on a floor to be eaten by a snake. No one deserves that Harry, no matter what they have done. I am going to go back and it’s not for him, it’s for everyone. For you, for Neville, for Dobby, for Fred and even for Snape. I need to do this and I already have, but this time I have to do it right.”

She didn’t wait for her friend to say anything. It didn’t matter what Harry or Remus said. She had chosen before she found the photo or spoke to them. Some might even say the choice was made a lifetime ago. It was merely a matter of finding out exactly how she was going to get there. Hermione didn’t blame Harry, at least not more than she blamed Draco for his anger at the imprisonment of his father, Neville for his sorrow at his parents’ madness or Minerva for her silence at everything. Remus for no longer being a proper father to Teddy. Everyone deals with their pain in their own way. And Harry’s way, like Ron’s, was lashing out.

She left the Room of Requirement and made her way to the Headmistress’ office. It was better to get this done as soon as possible. She needed to rule out leads to figuring this blasted thing as quickly as she could. She did not believe her friend would try and stop her, or at least she hoped he wouldn’t, but it was better to be safe than sorry. 

Remus was hot on her heels and grabbed the back of her jumper. “Let me speak to you first, would you?”

“What?” Hermione questioned, turning to face him. “Are you going to also tell me how horrible this idea is?”

“No, actually I am not… I came to tell you I think you're making the right choice and I hope it works out.”

***********************

The familiar Gargoyle sat in front of the Headmistress’ office the same as it had been for as long as Hermione could remember. Part of her worried that McGonagall would be there and part of her wished that she wouldn’t be. Her stomach was twisted into knots. She shut her eyes and thought, _‘I have to do this and I have to figure this out. I have a reasonable reason to be here if she asks and that’s final.’_

“I need to see the former Headmasters,” Hermione said to the stone creature. 

No response.

“Or maybe the Headmistress?” she asked, her tone far softer.

Surely if Professor McGonagall was in her office she would understand and possibly even help Hermione, or at least she hoped so. The Gargoyle slid to the side, leaving the doorway open for her to walk through. The office was empty, the same and different as it had been before. Gone were Dumbledore’s Trinkets though the room had the same feel of it. The was the same desk, the same sofa, though the other details like the carpet and curtains were far less ghastly. 

Part of Hermione could not help but wonder how much Minerva had gotten rid of herself or if Snape had been the one to do so. The very idea of him holding onto the objects that had been Dumbledore’s treasures made her laugh, but wait… Why didn’t she think of this before? Could it be? Could this compass have been something owned by Dumbledore before his death? Her gut told her that she possibly was on the right track, that she didn’t need to speak to just any Headmaster, but Dumbledore himself. 

Hermione stepped closer to the portraits. Most of them were sleeping and Snape’s was empty still, besides the bloody compass and the chair on which it lay. She held out hers to compare it and she realized something that sent a chill down her spine -- they were the same, which made no sense. Not one bloody bit. Hermione needed to go to the library after this and that would be another place that could help her figure out what in the hell was going on with this darn thing. 

She turned herself in the direction of the former Headmaster and she reached out to touch his frame, tapping it lightly with her index finger. 

“Professor, Professor Dumbledore?” Hermione asked, as if it was a question more than a name. 

The portrait did not wake up, it still sat in its chair sleeping, his beard moving with each snore he took. The man looked far more peaceful as a painting than he ever had been when he was alive, but that likely had to do with the fact that while he might carry some of the memories of Albus Dumbledore, he did not carry the pain connected to them or the shame. Thinking back to that time before the battle of Hogwarts, unfortunately this man had a rather bit of shame in his life, even if he had made the right choice in the end. 

Not unlike people like Narcissa Malfoy, though part of Hermione wondered if the woman was even capable of shame. Thinking back to the shrill scolding looks Narcisa had given her at the woman’s bloody trial. She had been trying to help her, and yet Narcissa Malfoy stared at her like she was nothing more than a roach under her high heeled shoe. The only reason why Hermione cared to help _that_ family when she did this was for Draco not for Narcissa who bluntly said, _“I have no regrets for what I have done and would do it all again.”_

But, it seemed saving the boy-who-lived was enough to clear anyone’s name. 

Hermione didn’t know how to feel about that fact, but there was truly nothing she could do about it. She shoved it aside for things that were actually in her power to deal with. 

“Headmaster, please for the love of Merlin, wake up.”

Instead of Dumbledore, another portrait woke up. Phineas Nigellus Black as the man had once told her rather proudly, as if it was something she should already know. His clear blue eyes that reminded her so much of Sirius stared at her, sharply as if the man was looking at something he despised and was not happy to be awoken.

“What do you want, Mudblood?” he growled, crossing his arms over his chest, displeased with her very presence.

“I need to speak to Dumbledore,” Hermione said.

“Really?” the former Headmaster asked. “Well it seems he’s sleeping. Now, what is so important that you would want to wake him?”

Hermione thought for a second and then sighed as she pulled out the compass out of her pocket, holding it out for the former Headmaster to see. 

“This is why I need to speak to him,” she said. “I wonder if Headmaster Snape found it in Headmaster Dumbledore’s things and was going to ask him about it.”

She would not tell him the whole truth; she still didn’t trust him after all these years. 

“Well, that’s rather interesting,” he said. “Do you know what it does?”

“No, do you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Headmaster Black muttered. “Dippet, do you think we should tell her?”’

The other headmaster snapped awake, “What?” asked the man as the painting wiped sleep from his eyes. His dark grey robes were so unlike Dumbledore’s. 

“Should we tell the girl about the compass?” Black asked again, this time slightly flustered.

“What has already happened will happen no matter what,” Dippet said, in a rather sleepy tone, as if he were rather bored with it all. “Time has no beginning and no end.”

“So, the answer is?” he snapped, though quickly softened. “You know how much I hate it when you speak in riddles.” 

Dumbledore awoke then, steely blue eyes opening, sitting there in his bright purple robes with bloody gold stars on them. Hermione would never understand the man’s rather garish taste, but it did bring her comfort to see him awake in at least some form -- even if it was not truly him.

“And yet you speak in them all the time,” Albus said. “But, don’t we all?”

“Are you an odd form of the Three Musketeers?” Hermione snapped, fighting the urge to tug at her curls. It would only make them more wild. “I just need to figure this out, okay?”

“Well then tell us the truth, girl, the whole truth,” Black said, shifting in his armchair. “I know you’re lying to us. I am not that bloody stupid. And you are _not_ a good liar.”

“Fine,” she hissed, holding out the photo to show the three of them. “Does this answer your question?” 

“Interesting,” Dumbledore mused, looking over his half-moon glasses. “You know that you must go back then, don’t you?” 

“Why?” Hermione asked. “Why must I go back?” 

“Because you already have,” Dippet said. “If not now, time will pull you through to correct itself and it will not be pleasant, at least from my understanding. Thankfully I have never experienced it.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” she shot back. “Surely it wouldn’t.”

Dumbledore shook his head and said, “No Dippet, she must go back because spring has to come again. She’s got to save him and them. Winter must end.”

“Save who? And how?” Hermione growled, very much tired of not being able to get a straight answer from any of the Headmasters. She felt like Echo from the Greek myths shouting into the bloody wind. “Can’t you just tell me?” fighting the urge to tug at her own hair.

Dipet retorted, “what would the fun in that be? If I told you we might just end right up back here.”

“He might still be around waiting for her to go back,” Dumbledore said. “He did not inform any of us about his plan.” 

“Then I guess we will end up finding it out when she does go back,” Black murmured. 

“Well then, how do I get it to work?” Hermione questioned, a small part of her wanting to leave this room and forget any of this happened, but the fact was she unwilling to leave things as they were: Harry’s haunted green eyes, Remus acting more like a ghost than a person, and everyone else. “To go back to the time before…”

Hermione looked out the windows onto the castle grounds, the lake and the forest behind it unchanged so very different from everything else at Hogwarts. That would at least be the same mostly, no matter where she ended up or at least she hoped that they would. It was like her lightning rod grounding her and giving her strength.

“Before the world went to hell, I assume?” Dippet asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. “To do that you would have to go back further than you did. Or at least I am guessing that, though I might be wrong.”

“I have not gone back yet,” she said. 

“But, you already have,” he said. “So what is your goal then, and do be clear about it when you tell me.”

“To save as many of those who have been lost as I can,” Hermione whispered. “Without changing what has come to pass nor changing Voldemort's defeat.”

“Then hold on to it and think about that,” Headmaster Black. “And it will take you there.”

Hermione did what she was told and the world spun around her. It was like she was caught in a tornado; as if she were Dorothy going to the land of Oz. Though this wasn’t some stupid fairytale, this was reality, this was real life and it could make a difference. Or at least she hoped it could.

***************************

  
  


Hermione landed on her knees, staring sharply at the crumbling sidewalk under her. The jagged concrete spoke far more about this area than just about anything else. Nice neighbourhoods took care of their sidewalks and poor ones let their roots go through them. It reminded her of the places that her parents had refused to allow her to visit. Good people didn't end up in places like that her father once said. She disagreed with him. The Weasleys were considered poor and they were good people. However, this wasn’t the Potters home before the prophecy, and it wasn’t Godric’s Hollow either. Good people might live here, but not the Potters with how much money Harry had inherited from his parents. Either the compass did not work properly or maybe it had. It could just be that it couldn’t take her near the house, maybe there wards were the reason. That had to be it. 

But, didn’t the three former Headmasters go on about what would have already happened? Bloody hell, she should have listened to them. Should have paid attention to them. Did that mean that there was no chance to change it? Could she simply turn on a heel, walking away from whatever this was? Would that change the past and the future? No, she wouldn’t. This for whatever reason was where she was supposed to be. Something in the back of her mind was insisting on it. She didn’t believe in the “this had already happened so it would happen again” or even really fate, but she did understand that sometimes whatever you were doing felt right like when Harry had saved her in the girl’s bathroom and she had helped Neville find his toad. 

Hermione looked up and pulled herself off the ground; dusting herself off. The ramshackle two up before her was crumbling, looking as if it would take one strong wind and it would be no more. Someone slammed the door open. Before Hermione stood a man who looked as if he was simply a teenager who had been stretched out. His limbs were long and lean. His body was rather narrow and all angles. His hair was inky black. His skin was sallow and sunless. His nose was sharp and beak-like. His eyes black as coals. 

Snape, it was Severus Snape. 

She knew she should have guessed sooner. Though it was like knowing exactly what something was, you simply could not find the words. 

“You know this is a Muggle neighbourhood, don’t you?” young Severus snarled, “and that it is illegal to use magic around them, or do you not care?”

“Severus?” Hermione asked. “What is the date?” 

“Have you hit your head or something?” he questioned, his black eyebrows knitting together. Crossing his arms over his chest, clearly not pleased, and likely thinking she was nuts. “Speak up, because I haven’t got all day.”

“No, but if I told you the truth you would throw me in Saint Mungo’s,” she laughed, and thought about how crazy the truth was and this man likely wouldn’t even believe her anyway or worse, he might. “Please, humour me? What is the date?”

“July 10th, 1982. Now, since I answered your question, you will answer some of mine.”

Hermione's stomach dropped to her feet and her eyes filled with tears, she was too late to help them. She should have been more clear in her thoughts and now she did not know what she was going to do. Trying to go back further was her only option. 

He pointed his wand at her as if he meant to use it. Snape was a Death Eater after all, or at least was one not too long ago. At this time he was already Dumbledore’s man, but this wasn’t something that could disappear easily. “Come along, we don’t want the Muggles to see anything that they shouldn’t, now, do we?”

“No, we don’t,” she muttered, wondering if it might have been better if she tried to run away after all. 

***************************

The house looked just as bad on the inside as it did on the outside. Hermione knew that it must be magic that was holding it together, though to be truthful she couldn’t even understand why. 

_‘Surely he could go somewhere else? There had to be somewhere else. Severus could live at Hogwarts if nothing else, couldn’t he?’_

Yet here he was, living in this home that was twisted and held together with his very magic. The bookcases were overflowing with books, the carpet long ago might have been cream, though it looked more brown than anything at the moment. The stones of the fireplace were grey and abused, belonging in another time. They were easily older than Severus himself. There was a faded floral sofa, and an armchair that was one of the few new things in the home. The stairs to the second floor were ramshackle at best. The kitchen walls were painted a faded yellow as if someone was trying to desperately bring a little bit of sunshine into the depressing home. The cabinets looked more cream than the white they likely once were. 

“You never did tell me your name and yet you know mine,” Severus said, lighting a cigarette and taking a seat on the armchair. 

“Hermione, my name is Hermione Jean Granger,” she said softly, taking a seat on the sofa. 

“Muggleborn then,” he said. “Why are you here Ms. Granger? Surely Narcissa wouldn’t send a Muggleborn to my doorstep; she wouldn’t consider you worthy of marriage even to someone like me.”

“No, I sent myself in a way, but somehow ended up in the wrong time-place,” Hermione found herself stuttering out the last part, hoping he did not catch it. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably, feeling a rather strange prickly feeling on the back of her neck. “I ended up in the wrong place.”

He was trying to get into her mind, but maybe it was worth allowing him in to give him only the most basic details so he thought that he had gotten everything that he wanted. 

“And where would that be?” Severus asked. She watched as his long potion stained fingers brought the cigarette to his lips. “Maybe I could help you get there. Surely you aren’t from around here.”

Hermione knew the man was toying with her, teasing her even. Long ago Dumbledore had suggested that they sort children into Hogwarts houses too soon, but she disagreed. This man was a Slytherin to his very core. A Gryffindor would just come out and say what they were thinking, while he seemed to be trying to play with her as if it were just a game of chess. 

“I am from around here,” she remarked. “I was born in…”

“Oxfordshire,” he mused, his overly large nose wrinkling. “Your parents were dentists and then they moved to Australia?”

“I never told you either of those things,” Hermione snapped, she had only wanted him to see the confirmation of what she was telling him, yet he was taking advantage of her gift and digging further into her mind. He dug in behind her walls, becoming rooted in the spot. His presence was both comforting but also unwelcomed. She shot back trying to push him out, “keep your overly large nose out of my mind, Snape.”

“I wouldn’t have to do that if you were bloody honest with me. Again, how do you know my full name? Or do I have to rip it out of you for myself?” 

She questioned, crossing her arms over her chest as she did so, “You would do that, wouldn’t you? Invade my mind like it was nothing.”

“Says the person who lies with every single bloody breath,” he hissed. “You're from the future, you came back trying to stop people from dying like Lily, and yet you ended up here with me instead.”

“Yes,” Hermione responded, giving up on trying to hide anything from him. Severus could simply pick it out of her mind at will if he wanted to.

“Well, I want to go with you, to go further back in time and to try to save her,” Severus said, as he walked over closer to Hermione and sat down next to her. “To save Lily and to stop him.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” 

“Please!” he cried, grabbing both of her arms, shaking her slightly. “I have to do this. I have to try to save her, to try and save my friend. It’s my fault the Dark Lord killed her. I know how he does things. If anyone can stop him, it’s me. I can stop him if you allow me to go with you.”

“What about James and Harry?” Hermione growled. “Do you not care about them? They can die for all you care? They are people too. And I might never have been a mother, but if I know anything, a mother would not be able to live without her child.”

“We can save them all then!” Severus spluttered, clearly not even bothering to think. He too was taking a leap of faith. His emotions were like a cauldron bubbling just under the surface. This Severus Snape was not the tight controlled man who had taught her years ago. Time was a fickle mistress, but in this time it had only been what, a year now since the death of the Potters? 

Merlin, it felt like it had been decades and yet Hermione had pet fish live longer than that. Hermione knew in her gut this man shouldn’t join her, he would try to twist the past to make the future something else, but he also was likely one of the only people besides Dumbledore who could truly figure out how to work the compass.

Hermione felt it then, a cat rubbing against her legs, and it shocked her. Snape wasn’t the type to own a pet. She reached for the animal, picking it up. She was a rather large black cat with warm brown eyes. 

“Well hello to you,” she said, petting the grumpy looking creature’s smooth coat. “I didn’t expect you would be the type to have a pet,” She told Severus.

“Ivy is my mother’s cat. I am just taking care of her for her,” Severus bristled. “But we have far more important things to talk about. Would you show me how you got here?” 

“Yes,” Hermione responded, digging out the compass and handing it to him. Not realizing that she also handed him the photograph as well. 

Severus snatched it before Hermione even noticed it had fallen to the floor. He clutched it tightly, his fingers brushing against the faces of the people in the photos. 

“Well, that changes things now, doesn’t?” he asked. 

“No, it doesn’t,” she snapped, trying to steal the photo back from him. Not unlike Hermione had done with Harry not too long ago. But, unlike Harry who was average height if you were being kind and short if you were not, Severus was not; he towered over her holding both the photo and compass above his head. Hermione knew she should have left it in the future, but she didn’t and now she was going to have to pay for it. 

“The future isn’t set in stone if that’s what you are worried about. I can’t imagine how in the world I would ever fall in love with someone like you.”

Hermione growled, “I can’t either.” She knew that the future wasn’t set in stone but the past was. “And we have bigger things to worry about beyond a stupid photo.” She finally distracted him enough that he lowered the photo down and she could grab it from his hands. 

She held it tightly, not knowing if she wanted the future that was in that photo now that she had met young Severus. He was very little like the man she once knew. Same sullen nature, but he was all the brighter. As if he had yet to give in to the fact that life was not fair. She shut her eyes and sighed, sitting back on the couch. Hermione lied to herself, but even she could not believe it, that she didn’t want that life. That they were just the foolish thoughts of a lonely person who had the pause button pushed on her life for years. Severus was the same as he always was and that was just the way it was. He would one day become the horrible person she knew and there was nothing she could do to change that. 

“So…” he trailed off, not finishing the sentence.“We should get started on trying to figure out how this thing works?”

“We should.”

Severus cleared his throat and stared at her as if he were trying to figure something about her out. Hermione was unwilling to think of the other option, though her face did heat up against her will.

He sighed and tugged at his hair, long enough that it fell around his shoulders. “I will go grab some books to start and put on a pot of tea, it might take a while.”

Hermione nodded and stared at her hands. Maybe she should have thought this over more, come up with a plan, but Hermione wasn’t a Gryffindor in name only. Not bothering to look where you were leaping was a base character trait of them all. It was going to be an interesting life, but at least she wouldn’t have to face Lavender’s scarred face at dinner, Harry’s displeasure, or the overwhelming feelings of depression and doom. 

_‘That was small kindness, wasn’t it? At least and that was something to be grateful for.’_


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione sat on the sofa with a teacup in front of her on the coffee table. The cup was a robin's egg blue colour and had a small chip in it. It was a rather odd choice colour, come to think of it. Maybe someone long ago had wanted to bring some brightness into this home. There were so many things that were bright and cheery. It must have been the same person who had painted the walls in the kitchen yellow. The photograph was once more in the pocket of her jumper, safe from Snape. Merlin only knew what he might try to do to the darn thing, not that she would care or at least that was what she told herself. The compass, however, sat next to her teacup. The dial did not point north but spun around as if it were still seeking something out. Merlin only knew what or why.

She flipped the stupid thing over, growling as she did so, unwilling to look at it anymore. 

Severus walked into the room as if nothing were amiss. His teacup in hand and another wretched cigarette was hanging from his lips. 

“Must you do that inside?” Hermione growled. 

“It’s _my_ house, and I can do as I please,” he muttered. “Now, if you don’t like it, you can leave. I am sure some wizarding family might happily take pity on you. I hear the Weasleys are almost always happy to help whatever _stray_ turns up on their doorstep.” 

“Then I shall take this with me,” she snapped, snatching the compass off the table. The thing was cold and heavy in her hand. “And you will be rid of me and this.”

“You won’t figure it out,” he said, eyes narrowing as smoke billowed off his cigarette around him. “And I don’t think someone else would be crazy enough to help you.” Severus took a step towards her, the sharp thump of his feet vibrating against the floor. He grabbed her by the arm and leaned over staring at her, his face in hers. 

“I will. I figured it out once before, and I _will_ do so again,” she spat, shoving a finger straight into his chest and giving him a shove. “I don’t need you, Snape, but you do need me.”

“So you claim, yet here you are quivering and biting your lip. It gives away far more of your lies than your words hide them. Want to bounce back to the stone ages next time? No one will understand you and will likely kill you on sight. That would help you with your plans, wouldn’t it?”

“And you would help me?” Hermione questioned sarcastically. “Keep me safe from them? That would make you feel so mighty and powerful, wouldn’t it?’

“When you fell through time, did you hit your head on something or have you always been so snippy with people?” he asked, letting go of her arm and sitting down on the sofa. He placed his feet on the table, next to her teacup.

_‘Ew,’_ she thought as she sat back down next to him, sighing. 

“So we might need each other,” she said through gritted teeth. “But do you have to be so horrible?” 

“Takes one to know one, Hermione,” he laughed. “We both need something from each other. If you do make it to the past, the Potters will not trust you. And while they might not trust me much either, I will not be a stranger from a strange land, and you are. It’s only been a year and I don’t look that different than I did then. So, shall we try to help one another and not bite each other’s heads off?”

“Possibly, but I cannot promise anything…” Hermione quipped. 

“Were you born this impossible, or is it a new talent of yours?” 

A couple of sharp knocks on the front door silenced them. 

“Shite,” Severus growled. “He wasn’t supposed to be here for at least another few hours. I assumed that I had time to figure out what to do with you.”

His crude language shocked her but didn’t surprise her. “What in Merlin’s name were you planning to do with me?” 

“Stuff you in a bloody closet! I don’t even know!” He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled at it. 

“You’re a bloody arse!” Hermione shouted. “Maybe I should stuff you in a freaking closet!”

“Woman, shut your mouth, or I will shut it for you.” 

Anger bubbled under her skin, and she fought the urge to slap him.

A voice behind the door took her attention away from Severus.

“Snape, I am just going to come on in, okay?” The person didn’t wait for a response.

Hermione stood up, holding out her wand and preparing for the possible attacker. Instead, Remus Lupin stood in the doorway. His hair was longer than it had been when she had known him; it fell into his face and touched his collar. His scars, golden eyes, and the rest of his features were the same, though. He was just many years younger now. He did, however, look just as sad as he had in her time and just as broken. Harry had lost his parents, but Remus had lost his partner. He didn’t even know that the man was innocent. She did not have a way to prove it and that was what kept her mouth shut. It was better to be silent and figure out how exactly she could tell him. 

  
  


“How do you do, miss?” Remus asked. “I didn’t know that Severus had friends, let alone someone as pretty as you.”

“She’s no one,” Severus muttered, waving a hand around as he spoke. “Hermione, why don’t you go to the back garden while Lupin and I speak?”

“I… don’t want to do that,” she said, her hands on her hips. “Nor do I have to if I don’t want to.”

“Considering that it is _my_ house, actually you do.”

“No, she doesn't. I have nothing to say your friend can’t hear.” 

Hermione was left with a rather odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was Remus different, so utterly different? He was sharper than he had been in the future. Her mind was unable to settle on the information, even in her thoughts. 

“I disagree,” Severus snapped. “Please, Hermione, go to the garden so Lupin and I can speak.” 

“No, she doesn’t have to,” the other man growled. 

“Men! Well, at least some of them, I don’t know about you, Mr I don't know your name,” Hermione snapped, hoping that she wouldn’t be caught in her tiny white lie. “From the beginning of time assuming they can speak for women as if we are nothing more than objects to pull down from a high shelf to be played with at their will and set us aside when they deem fit. I will go to the garden so you can have your proper conversation without me listening. But stop treating me like that for the love of all that’s holy.” She just as quickly softened, “But first, hello, I am Hermione, and I assume your name isn’t Lupin or at least your first name isn’t. You are?”

“My name is Remus, Hermione, and it’s lovely to meet you even if you do keep such poor company.”

“Nice to meet you, and I hope that we will see each other again soon.” 

Hermione fled the sitting room, her face slightly hot with shame and discomfort. It was rather odd to feel that about how those men had treated her—Remus as he seemed to want to be her friend even as he seemed so utterly alone. The few years that she had known him, he had been happy first with Sirius and after with Tonks. Fate had stolen from him the life he should have had, but it might be within her power to give him back some of it. There was no way that she could know which person he would be able to spend his life with or that he would choose either of those people in this life. Time travel gave her a bloody headache, But that didn’t mean she should not at least try to make some of the future better for any of them—the people who Voldemort and his Death Eaters had touched. Hermione considered the other piece of information, the photograph in her pocket. The one with the little family that she would have. 

_Did she want to have that life? And if she did not want to, was there any way to stop it? Or was Dumbledore right about what had happened would happen again?_

It was something she rarely ever admitted. It was a silly and childish thing; growing up Hermione had always wanted a family. Children, a spouse, the dog, and the little back garden. But those were silly notions of a life long ago. 

Snape’s back garden was overgrown or at the very least not well taken care of. There was an old oak tree, grass at least knee high in some spots, and stones just as cracked as those outside the front of the house. Though it did not matter, Hermione needed to listen to what those two men were saying. 

_‘What was that spell the twins had used back when they were trying to listen to the Order? Rats, it wasn’t a spell. It was one of their stupid bloody products, and they hadn’t been invented yet. The twins were young children right now though they were still likely causing as much mayhem now as they did when they were older, but wait; it couldn’t be, now could it?’_

Severus Snape had left a window open. That was a perfect place to try and overhear the conversation that was going on inside. Hermione kneeled next to the house in the grass, twigs poking her as she did. She brushed them aside and listened. Severus’ booming voice filled her ears.

“Lupin, would you do me a favour and get out of your bloody head whatever it is you’re thinking about that woman?” Severus growled, “she’s just passing through and she has no interest in anything with you.”

“She’s not my type,” Remus said. “But, is she yours?” 

“That matters little. Now, I have far more important things to worry about.” 

“That wasn’t a no.”

“It’s a, ‘I care more about what information you have learned about from your time in Russia. About what remains of the Dark Lord and where it ended up.’ Are you going to tell me, or do I have to pluck it from your wretched mind?”

“Pleasant as ever, I see,” Remus grumbled. “Your ‘friend’ has done nothing to help that personality of yours.”

Severus said harshly, “What would help my personality is a bloody boot up your arse, but since I can’t have that, spit it out or off with you. I haven’t got all day to play your bloody games.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at that comment. 

“A potion brewing or would you prefer to get that lovely witch back in your bed?”

“Must you be so lewd, wolf? Even if anything were going on with her, I wouldn’t tell you about it. Now to get back on the reason you are cluttering up my sitting room and making it smell of _canine_ , for the love of Merlin.” 

“The answer to your question? Unfortunately, I found nothing beyond the bit we already knew about many of the lower-ranking Death Eaters fleeing to mainland Europe. I haven’t found any leads on them, but I also really wasn’t looking for them. It’s not my job to.” 

“Anything else, Lupin?” Severus questioned. “Something else that you could have sent by owl?”

Hermione could see in her head the man’s snarling face; maybe he was already very much the man he would one day become. 

“Dumbledore asked me to check on you. For some bloody reason, the man cares for you. Even if I honestly do not know why,” Remus muttered. “Now I shall be off, and you can tell that poor woman to come back inside. Though I don’t know why she couldn’t hear this…”  
  
“That’s none of your concern, Now, have a good day and goodbye, Lupin.” 

There was silence for a while. Hermione wanted to straighten herself out and stare at the weeds scattered across the yard. Or maybe she should look over at the twisted fence that separated this garden from the one next to it. To pretend that she had not been listening to the conversation that took place in the house. She did not do that. Her limbs felt as if they were made of stone, and then Severus was standing over her.

“I am not shocked you listened in on that conversation,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Though I did expect you would have done a better job at trying to hide that you did.” 

“Why did you want me to be out here if you knew I was going to listen in?” Hermione asked, standing up as she did and brushing the grime off her denims. “Or put charms on the room, surely you of all people know one, don’t you?”

“I created one and then… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

She knew what he was talking about. _‘Harry had told her the Half-blood Prince had been the one to create ‘Muffliato’ and Snape had been that… boy? Man? Child? When she looked back with the clarity of time. Her sixth year was long ago, she had been a child, which meant so had the person who wrote those notes in that textbook during his own sixth year. Even if some of those spells had been rather dark, he, like her, was older now. Snape was twenty-two, and she was twenty-four; yet she felt far older, and the lines on his face said the same thing about him.’_

“So, why didn’t you use it or let me inside instead of forcing me to listen in from an open window like some sort of peeping tom?” she questioned, pressing her hand into his chest. “Because it makes no sense, and you don’t seem like the type to do things that make no sense.”

“You _knew_ him in the future,” he muttered. “I could see it on your face. So while Lupin regularly misses the forest for the trees, even he would understand if you went and blurted something out. Better for him to think what he already does. That I’m an arse. He‘s a follow the rules type if you didn’t know and surely would have no problem with tossing you straight at the bloody Unspeakables without even thinking about it. That would blow whatever chance we have of saving Lily, and I won’t allow that. Not for Lupin or anyone else for that matter.”

“You were in love with her, weren’t you?”

“I am not _in love_ with her,” Severus said, staring at the bricks of his home as if they held some unknown secret. “But I loved her. She was like a sister to me and someone who I care for greatly. She’s dead because of my foolishness and mistakes, which you already know. If I had known what that _thing_ would do to her, I would have killed myself before allowing any harm to ever come to her. You care greatly for her son, Harry; I saw that. But you are not in love with him either.”

Hermione clenched her fists and spoke, “Harry is like the brother I never had and he is or rather was one of my closest friends.” 

“He’s why you came back here. Does he die in the future war that Dumbledore believes will happen?”

“I shouldn’t tell you,” she murmured and turned away from him. She rubbed her hands back and forth over her arms. “I have likely already told you far too much.”

“Didn’t you already plan to tell someone, Hermione? Surely you did not expect to go there and never tell anyone, did you?”

“I don’t know what I expected… I didn’t have a plan one way or another. I might as well have jumped off a cliff without bothering to look down.” 

“Gryffindors,” he laughed, looking at her with those odd eyes of his. They were as black as midnight, though bright in a way. “You are all the same, foolish at best and stupid at worst. Never thinking about how something would affect yourself or others. Is it bravery or a lack of care for your own life wrapped around your bones?”

He was neither a typical Muggle or a Wizard. Severus, like her, was something in between. The half-blood prince indeed. Caught between the world he was raised in and the one he wanted to be in. She studied the man before her. His hair fell around his shoulders. It hung around his face, partly shielding him from her gaze. He was dressed in all black like he had been during all the years she had known him, but he was less rigid now in this time and place. Age might be a part of it, though it might be that the world had not yet hardened him. He still seemed so lost but then so was she.

Hermione could not help but wonder, _‘which part of himself made him feel more like a fish out of water?’_

That did not, however, change her feelings for the man. He was still a bastard if Hermione had ever met one. “Then what are Slytherins, people who will happily watch the world burn just to save their bloody necks?”

“No. To save their bloody necks and the necks of those we love and care for.”

“So if given a choice, you would allow James Potter to die without a thought about it?” Hermione asked, hoping that he would lie and deny it, but this was Snape, and she was downright silly to expect anything different. “Since you neither loved nor cared for him.”

“Yes,” Severus snapped. “But your world must be very different if you assume he wouldn’t do the same when it comes to me if our roles were reversed. A tiger cannot change its stripes.” 

“Maybe where I am from is different; because I have met Slytherins who have stuck out their necks for others, even for those who they did not care for,” she said.

“Surely it was only to protect their lives,” he said, leaning over her, looking rather angry as his brows knitted together and his face became pinched. “And they were smart enough to make you believe otherwise. So maybe you aren’t as bright as some had let you believe.”

“Or maybe you're just a cold-blooded bastard!” Hermione shoved him back out of her face.

“I never claimed that I wasn’t, Ms. Granger!” Severus snarled, looking quite a bit like Professor Snape. “What led you to believe such a stupid ignorant idea that I am some kind-hearted creature who cares about people who never gave a bloody damn about me?”

“Because the Severus Snape I knew died protecting people who didn’t care about him or even liked him! That’s why, but I must be a stupid fool to think you are him or are capable of _being_ him!”

His face crumbled. He did not know the manner or when he would die, but he knew details about his death. No one should know the cause of it. “How? When? Why?”

“I can’t tell you, and I have already said far too much,” she said and sighed into her hands. “I will figure out the compass myself, and I will be gone. I recommend you do your best to forget that I was even here.”

“Hermione, you can’t tell a man that he’s going to die and then run off like a dog who has been kicked. At least not when you were the one who did the bloody kicking,” he replied, clearly not listening to what she had said to him. “Beyond that, what I told you before still holds up. They will not trust you alone, stubborn Gryffindor or not.”

“Fine, but you need to stop being so irrational,” She held out her hand and put it on his chest, doing her best to ignore that she too was being irrational. “We don’t know if the darn thing will ever work, let alone how we can get it to send us where we want it to.”

“Says the woman who came from the future. If it didn’t work you wouldn’t be here and driving me mad.”

“Must you be so impossible?” Hermione asked and rocked up on her toes. “So utterly impossible.”

“I could say the same about you,” Severus mused, leaning down closer to her. He reached down, brushing his fingers down her arm, teasing her. “You are so utterly insufferable, yet you know it and seem to enjoy being so.” 

“I am not insufferable!” She quipped. 

“Yes. You. Are.” 

Much to her shock, Severus leaned down and asked, “May I kiss you?” 

“What?!?” Hermione croaked. “You want to kiss me? Fine, do it.” She did not believe that he would do it. 

After a moment, he was kissing her. For a second, she was rigid, frozen at the shock of it all, but then she had given into him. Hermione opened her mouth to his invading tongue. She moved her hands up to the back of his neck and slipped her fingers into his hair at the back of his neck. He slipped a hand under her jumper and shirt, resting his thumb on her hip. He pressed it into her sharp hip bone, which stuck out rather uncomfortably. He pulled away from her and rested his forehead against hers. They stared at each other, eyes wide open, taking in every single detail of each other’s faces. Hermione noticed the small faded scar that cut across his pale cheek. She reached out, tracing it with her thumb gently, feeling how it was ever so slightly raised. He sighed and wrapped his hand around Hermione’s wrist, pulling away from her. 

“I don’t know why I did that,” Severus said, looking up at the sky that was darkening overhead. “I...it was rather foolish, wasn’t it?” 

He shifted around like a schoolboy caught doing something he shouldn’t. He seemed as if he wanted to fold in on himself, to hide away from her and the world around them. 

Hermione reached for him, but he pulled away from her touch. “I don’t think it was foolish, but what would my thoughts matter on the subject?”

“You aren’t, and your opinions do matter. I was just being an arse,” he murmured, wiping his face on his sleeve, laughing darkly as he did so and adding. “I don’t ‘people’ very well.” 

“From what I have been told, neither do I,” she sighed. “It’s getting cold. Can we go back inside and I don’t even know at this point…”

This day had left her with the feeling the world might crumble under her feet. As if she had fallen down a hole into a strange place, she could barely make sense of. 

“The compass can wait, but we should go make supper. It's getting rather late anyway.” 

“We should,” Hermione said, turning to face the door back inside the house.

She opened the door, twisting the handle sharply in her hand and pushing her way inside. She rested her shoulder against the wall, untying her boots and setting them aside. She heard the sound of Severus’ footfalls hitting the tile behind her. He shoved her gently aside and muttered under his breath, though she could still hear him, “There are a million places you could be and you _must_ be in my way.” 

It seemed they had made progress, but it appeared that they weren't so far from where they had started. The kiss had been a rather stupid, foolish accident, and she was going to do her very best to forget it even if that was easier said than done. 

“I am sorry that my existence seems to cause you so many problems, and yet I don’t exist to make your life better or even to ruin it. I came here because I thought it helped tons of people and didn’t think it through. Now I have to live with it, and I am sorry you seem to think you're the only one affected by it. But that isn’t true,” she said. Her frustration filled her tone of voice. “Is there anything you want to say to make me feel worse?” 

Severus sighed, “And you think this has been easy for me?”

“No, I don’t, and yet we have to try to make this work.”

The two of them seemed like two magnets, both pulling themselves closer and yet also pushing away from each other. He made his way past her, digging out pots, a cutting board, and food from their respective cabinets. His hair hung limply around him, and his face was somewhat pinched, his voice filling with snark once more, “If you aren’t going to help, please get out of the kitchen.”

“You seem to be quite fine by yourself!” Hermione growled. 

“You're impossible!” He snarled. 

“So are you!”

“It’s my house and I am allowed to be. You, on the other hand, are an _unwanted_ guest.” 

She stalked forward towards Severus and he spun towards her, leaning over her like he wanted to rip her to pieces. Hermione pointed at the centre of his chest sharply, “You are so bloody horrible, so impossible. Why can’t you just stop? Is it bloody a special talent of yours or something? I came here throwing my own life away to save _you_ and them, and yet you act as if I am just this great inconvenience that was thrust upon you like an unwanted pet. I am a person, Severus Snape, and it will be best to remember that and treat me as such!” 

“You think I should treat you better?” Severus asked, grabbing onto her shoulders and shaking her. “How would you treat someone who landed on your bloody doorstep claiming she was from the bloody future? And then the strange person tells you that you're going to die in the future? If I were sane, Granger, I would take you to the Janus Tickery ward and wash my hands of you. My life would be easier if I did, and if it weren’t, it would at least be simpler! You are like the dark fairy godmother that only makes me miserable.”

Maybe she should just leave. She found her mind wandering. Would it be better if she walked out the front door and never looked back? It had been foolish to assume that she could just send herself back in time and fix things. Hermione had not thought about how she might do things, and now it was time to pay the piper for those actions. Or it would also be if she didn’t see how he was looking at her as if he _knew_ he was upsetting her. As if it was clear as day that he had gotten under her skin and he was enjoying it. Anger bubbled up inside her like a cauldron waiting to explode. Hermione pulled out the compass from her pocket and shoved it into Severus’ face, “Then I shall take this with me and be out of your hair.”

She turned on a heel. Part of her hoped that he would allow her to leave, and the far larger part hoped he would insist she stay. Severus grabbed onto her arm before Hermione could even reach her boots, dragging her back to him. His touch was like ice, yet it left her with this feeling of flames dancing across her skin. There was something about this man that was inescapable as anything had ever been and would ever be.

“Stay, please,” he cried. “I need you just as much as you seem to need me. You're like no one I have ever known before, Hermione, and I think you feel the same.”

“Possibly,” she muttered. “But that doesn’t change the fact you're an arse who seems to get off on making others uncomfortable.”

Hermione turned to face him and looked at him, trying her very best to forget about the man he might one day become. The greasy git as Harry called him, though he wasn’t greasy now, he sure was a bloody git. 

He shifted around. “The same could be said about you.”

“Then I guess we are at an impasse.”

“That we are,” Severus added. “Now, would you like to help me with supper? Afterwards I can dig up some clothes for you. I think you're about the same size as my mother. They will have to do at least until we get something better.”

Clothes were not something that Hermione cared much about. More so after the war, but it was another thing she had forgotten about in her haste. She wasn't going to impress anyone, and as long as she had something that sort of fit and kept her warm? She could and would make do with them if she was going to go back further; it was possible that she wouldn’t be able to take anything with her. For once in a very long time, Hermione wished that she had asked more questions, but looking before she leapt was something that she had gotten out of practice during the war. Her beaded bag was sitting on her bed in 2003 because she only thought she was going to the Headmistresses office for a chat, not actually leaving. All of her things were packed into it, yet part of her didn't care about them one bit. Things didn’t matter in the end. 

Together Hermione and Severus got back to making supper. She tried not to think about how upset Harry might be now, once he realised that she was gone to a past that seemed as distant as anything had ever been. She had to do her best to set that aside. Now she had bigger things to worry about, like a future to try and fix. 


End file.
